


Know It's Not Over

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [11]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, jon moxley series, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: Sequel to “Pain In My Heart”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been rewritten no less than twenty times. Finally, I like the first chapter and think the idea works.

“(Y/N)!”

You spin around at the sound of your name; Ivelisse approaches you with a smile and throws an arm around your shoulders, “You were kicking Prince’s ass tonight!”

A chuckle parts your lips as you throw your arm around her, “I say that calls for a celebration!”

“Hell yeah, it does!” She points towards Johnny, Melina, and Matt, “Drinks are on them.”

You move your hands to cup your mouth, “That’s unless Melina plans on locking herself up tonight!”

Johnny just smiles as his girl, clasping her hand as she sighs, “I got this tab, but you ladies have Friday’s, you hear me?”

“Woo!” You hold your arms in victory as the men shake their heads, “All I heard is I don’t have to pay for drinks tonight!”

Ivelisse and you get everyone to agree to departure in twenty minutes before you all part your separate ways to freshen up. As you, Melina, and Ivelisse hang out in the locker room, you talk about your separate matches. You talk about what improvements you need to make, and it’s perfectly comfortable to you.

You get to wrestle on a pretty regulated schedule; you meet new people all the time; you have just enough notoriety to get around with perks; and you have a family with the company. After feeling like things would always be the same, like you would always lose…because you had lost Jon.

The thought of Jon stuns you to minimal small talk as your group heads out. Somehow, everything has changed between you two. Jon had made it work…for a while. Phone calls, text messages, and visits where the entire world seemed to stop. You were completely his and vice versa; yet, a year into his new career – complete with new name – everything he did became less frequent. Finally, you stopped responding all together, reserved to the fact that everything was for his best. When you got the offer (a very long while later) to join Lucha Underground, you jumped at the chance and completed the move to the west coast.

“Hey,” Ivelisse elbows you lightly, waiting for your eyes, “You all right?”

You present a half smile, ready to forget, “Just ready to get out.”

She presents her fist, “Make ‘em bow down.”

“Bow down.” You agree, bumping your fist to hers.

“Now smile.” Ivelisse orders as she moves to take a picture of the two of you, announcing as she posts it to Instagram, “#maneaters.”

Ivelisse had been (and continues to be) your strongest ally. You two do almost everything together, and both of you had been downright failures as it came to men; luckily, that made it easier for the two of you to use and abuse them now.

Tonight would be no different; you and your girl would be the prowl for some fun.

—————————————

“You make it home last night?” Ivelisse makes the final touches to her ring gear, “Slim pickings last night.”

“You know me. I don’t bring them home. Don’t need fleas in my apartment.” You roll your neck, continuing to stretch, “Besides, you know my limits.”

“What the fuck is that about anyway? Women need to get laid to.” She takes another look in her mirror, “You trying to become a nun or something?”

“Trust me, it’s not for a lack of wanting to. I just—I always find a reason why they won’t work out. It’s—he’s a bad kisser or he can’t dance for shit or…some other huge clue he’s going to be terrible in bed.” You yank your leg onto the bench, lacing your boot, “It’s easier to get there myself. At least I know the fucking route.”

Ivelisse laughs, shutting her locker and turning to you, “Aw, honey, you just got to find one you’re willing to train. No one expects you to love him, just make him better for the female community.” You roll your eyes as she pats your shoulder on the way out of the locker room, “Good luck out there, babe.”

You wait for her to step out before whispering, “You too.”

—————————————

Ivelisse shakes her head in disgust, finishing a bite of taco, “Man, this is bullshit. We bust our asses for our spot then get ignored because ‘the Beast’ decides to make an appearance at their bullshit pay-per-view.”

You two are at one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall taco spots in the neighborhood; you have been looking forward to your burrito all morning as you kicked each other’s ass in the gym. You were happily distracted until she tossed the paper to your side of the table. You drop your bundle of goodness, growling as you pick it up. There it is; WWE’s cover of the Los Angeles Times – a slew of events being announced over the weekend. Instantly, your appetite is gone.

Ivelisse notices your change in mood, “Okay, there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You wipe grease away from your hands, happy your wearing shades to hide your tears, “You’re right. Where do they get off?”

“Nah, this isn’t about my bitching this is something else.” She lifts her sunglasses onto her baseball cap, “Speak on it.”

God, you don’t want to. You want to ignore that the thoughts you’ve had of Jon are so close to him being near you; but he couldn’t know where you were. He couldn’t know what you were doing. It was too long, and you had made yourself a figment of his imagination – essentially disappearing.  But you knew that look on her face; she was not about to let this go.

“Do you remember me saying that I was in a relationship before I signed?”

“Yeah, didn’t end well and you were happy to move.”

You nodded, fidgeting with your own ball cap, “It fucked me up because—I’ve never been in love with anybody before…or since. Protecting myself and what not.” You hate talking about this, revealing your feelings when it was so much easier to bottle them up – let them fester until they killed you years later.

“Okay, this seems somewhat self-explanatory with how you act.”

“Yeah, well, the guy?” You waited for her curiosity to nearly kill her, “He got signed to WWE,” The shock is in her wide eyes as you add, “He goes by Dean Ambrose now.”

“Dean-fucking-Ambrose? You’re shitting me.” Ivelisse knew the name well; most of the roster had been interested in the NXT development, and the Shield were the most obvious proof the development worked. She takes a sip of her beer, hissing as it moves down, “What the fuck you gonna do?”

“Nothing.” You grab the paper one more time, tossing it into a nearby trashcan, “They’ll be gone before you know it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You look hot.”

Ivelisse’s compliments always make you smile; she’s really got your back, more than anyone else. She’s in a grey jumper with black accents, her hair up and make up absolutely flawless; there is no doubt she’s going home with someone tonight. Friday nights are the best night for new recruits.  You check the mirror once more, wondering how much attraction you really want to draw to yourself.

You wear dark blue jeans which sit right on the curve of your hips, leaving plenty of skin for men to indulge; the white hooded tank top you wear is one you customized a long time ago. It is half the size it was a long time ago, hugging right where your ribcage began and cross laced in part of the back. Your hair is half up and half down, diamond cuffs on your ears, and you still wish – knowing that this is the perfect image – that you had the same confidence she had.

Ivelisse frowns at you in the mirror, both of you using your reflections to perfect your bait for the night’s catch, “Are you sure you want out tonight? Maybe we should indulge in a man hating session, order pizza, and break open that tequila in your cabinet.”

“I can’t stay in tonight. I  _have_  to get out.” You slide your ID and money into the pocket of your skin tight jeans, “Besides, I owe Matt and company for paying for us the other night.”

“Fair enough.” She lifts her arms, shaking her hips, “Loosen up then!”

—————————————

You guys get a familiar booth thanks to Johnny’s relationship with the owner; Melina could not be happier, quick to begin to entice her man with dances that verge on lap romance. Meanwhile, Matt’s tweeting and drinking at the same time – that ought to be a fun conversation with the office later. Ivelisse sneaks in a picture as you down a shot and a second when you flip off her camera; you knew that would be up on Instagram. God cursed you with social media monsters. 

You toss her phone over to Johnny, who couldn’t care less, then yank her by the hand onto the dancefloor. You had no idea how long you were down there; every song stared to sound the same among grinding bodies and a thump so loud that the lyrics disappear.

The room is boiling, and you start to feel like your body is going into ‘flight’ mode. You have no idea whose arms are around you, but your skin burns with recognition of something else. Pushing hair out of your face, you push your hoodie back and look in front of you to see Ivelisse has found her Friday night fling. Your eyes search the room, finding nothing, until you look to the second floor of dancers, spotting him leaning on the railing and sipping a beer.

Your whole body freezes as your mouth drops; it’s Jon. He’s tense, his steel gaze staring a hole into you, but he doesn’t move. The patience he demonstrates is almost scary as you know what he wants to do; you know that look because you’ve seen it before. You are his; that has never changed. You loosen the arms from around you, throwing your hoodie forth to conceal yourself as much as possible.

Ivelisse calls out after you, “(Y/N)! You all right?”

You manage a nod before forcing your way through the sea of people; he couldn’t have been there. You must have been gone already off of alcohol. He would never let you just be with another man, let you work someone else into a frenzy. Outside, you begin to walk, wanting some distance from the club before you hail a cab.

You shut your eyes tight, mentally trying to convince yourself,  _it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Jon._  Then, you slowly lift your hand when you see a swarm of cabs approaching the club.

A hand gentle pushes your forearm down, a whisper in your ear, “That’s not necessary.”

Turning around, you have no control over your reaction at the sight of him.

He’s as beautiful as you remember, even more so. His hair is a little shorter, allowing his blue eyes to glow, and you see the faintness of his dimples as a warm smile greets you. You’ve never seen anyone look better in blue jeans and t-shirt, especially when you haven’t seen anything but his image on TV for months.

You want to punch him, make the reunion violent; your heart pushes that urge away, sending your arms around him instead. You slightly jump up, hugging his neck, as his arms embrace you just as tight. Everything about him awakens you – the solidness of his frame and smell of his skin. It is so familiar…it hurts.

Jon releases you after a long minute, kissing your cheek, “Come on, I’m gonna get you home.”

“You don’t know where I live.” You pull away completely, wiping stray tears, and take a step back, “You don’t know anything about me.” There some of your anger surfaces as you cross your arms, “You don’t know me anymore.”

“I wanna know.” Jon bows his head slightly, extending his hand without looking you in the eye, “But we’ll have to figure that out later. Right now, we have to get out of here.”

You don’t look at him, slightly irritated with yourself, as you take his hand and follow.

—————————————

The car ride is tense, little to no conversation outside of ‘where do I turn’ and ‘you look good’. You are not entirely sure why you got into his rental car, but he still has some unspoken power over you. You hate him for it.

Yet, your eyes can’t help but glance over at him. His focus on the road only makes him more attractive, his muscles in his arms breathtakingly obvious. You cross one leg over the other, tightening your thighs, and try to shake the urge to remind how good you two used to have it.

You distract yourself with conversation, “How did you find me?”

“Took some digging.” He turns, hitting a straightaway and pressing the gas, “When I went  _home_ , coach told me you got offered a contract to work for ‘Lucha something,’ but that’s all he knew. Then, I talked to my buddy, Joe, at work,” Jon stops as a red light, finally meeting your eyes, “He found you through your Twit shit and your girl’s constant pictures. Social media is useful for something I guess.”

You try not to be pleased when his eyes wonder over your transformation as well; you point ahead, “The light’s green.”

Jon says nothing as you finally pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex; he parks the car and shuts off the car. The two of you sit in silence, with nothing and everything to say.

It takes a minute, but you get ready to yank the door open when he stops you – a hand covering yours; you have no idea what to do with the action.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Guess I know some things never change.” Jon tries to hold your hand but knows you want no contact from the way you tense up; he releases you, reaching into his pocket, “This is my phone number since you seem to have lost it. It also has my hotel and room number. I have some commitments tomorrow during the day, but…I’d like to have dinner with you tomorrow.”

You take the paper, sighing, “I’ll think about it.”

“Call…or text tomorrow. Let me know.”

“Or what? You’ll show up here.”

“…probably.”

“Some things really don’t change.” You take the paper, admitting, “It’s probably not going to go the way you want it to, Mox. Maybe you should just…focus on your big weekend.”

“My attention’s where it needs to be.” He reaches over, his thumb stroking your cheek, “And thanks for calling me Mox.”

You have to run, the contact is killing you. You get out the car, heading into your building, aware his car doesn’t leave until you are inside. 


	3. Chapter 3

“No!”

You frown over your shoulder, continuing to hold your hair up, “What? Is the zipper messed up?” If it is, you may explode; the dress is brand new.

“No! You’re wearing red underwear; no woman wears that shade without expecting someone else to see it.” Ivelisse stops, hands on her hips, “Have you even thought about what you’re going to say him tonight?”

“Would you zip the damn dress?” You narrow your eyes at her when she yanks it up and smacks your behind, “Just tell me it’ll make him feel like shit.”

The black dress has long sleeves and dips just below your neck line; it would be modest if it didn’t reach your mid-thigh and cling to your curves. You wait, she shrugs, and you wonder why you told her what was going down tonight. Stepping over to your dresser, you try to pick out some jewelry to go with; but you only pick black studs and nothing else.

“Okay, serious shit, (Y/N).” She waits for you to face her again, “Do you really want to do this?”

You aren’t sure. Part of you is curious what he has to say, but the larger part of you knows it would be better to ask him to cut ties completely. Taking a seat with her on the edge of your bed, you slip into red heels and lock the straps at your ankles, “It’s weird. I don’t know how mad I can be; I kind of disappeared on him. I loved him, and we have separate lives now. I don’t know what I can really say tonight. I just know I need this to be over.”

“Is that really what you want…” Ivelisse knows she’s treading on dangerous territory, covering your hand with hers and squeezing it tight, “All right, no matter what, you only have to remember two things tonight.”

You nod, taking deep breaths, “Two things.”

“Don’t let him into the apartment.”

A breath and repeat, “He’s not getting into my apartment.”

“And don’t give him any.”

“And he’s not getting any.”

—————————————

_Can I come up?_

You wish Ivelisse had stuck around just fifteen minutes longer; you stare at the text and quickly type back,  _I’ll meet you downstairs._

_Are you that afraid to let me see your new place? It can’t be worse than the last one._

This fucker. Now, he makes you feel like you have to show him how well you’re doing; he needs to know you are fucking peachy. You look around the apartment; happy you still live pretty sparse so it is clean, with the exception of your room. You tap your heels against the carpeted floor, typing a message back to him – it’s your apartment number.

You sprint to your room, gathering all scattered clothing and shoving it into your closet; then, you straighten your bed quick and curse yourself out as you leave the room, “He’s not going to fucking see your bedroom, stupid ass.”

The knock comes on your door as you shut the one to your bedroom. Smoothing the material along your hips, you approach the door – trying to control your breaths – and open with more apprehension than confidence. You don’t invite him in; you just step aside, holding the door open for him. Jon wears jeans, a black t-shirt, and a leather jacket; all of it looks new and pristine compare to his favorites of the past. You don’t bother to shut your door, trying to avoid staring at him as he surveys the place, “Satisfied?”

Jon flashes a sideward grin your way, “I hope to be.”

Fuck you, asshole. You bite your tongue so hard you taste the rusty familiarity of blood. Crossing your arms, your confidence swells at his smug flirtation. Does he really think you are that easy?

“It’s nice, (Y/N).” He nods at your entertainment center, appreciating your high tech electronics and glancing at the pictures you have sprinkled among your home – not one picture includes him or your life before California. You know he notices as he starts to walk towards you again, “You ready to go?”

You smirk, hoping he catches the sarcasm dripping from your reddened lips, “I’m ready to leave.”

Jon stops short of the hallway, shamelessly looking you up and down, “You look good.”

“I know.” Your response only cause that wolfish grin to appear, dimples popping, but you push him out – locking the apartment up behind you.

Though you may have let him in the apartment, you didn’t let him into your panties. At least you had maintained one of Ivelisse’s rules for tonight’s success.

—————————————

The dinner is painfully silent; you have everything to say to each other. Yet you say none of it, instead you push food around on your plates. You gulp glasses of water and wine.

He’s still chewing a piece of steak when he breaks the silence, “At some point, you have to talk to me, (Y/N).”

You drop your fork, reaching for your wine, “I’m trying to choose my words carefully.”

“Then let’s start with a question.” Jon follows suit, repeating your actions and swallowing hard, “Why did you cut me off?”

“Don’t start with me. You and I both know it was matter of time before—”

“I never stopped calling; you stopped answering.”

His words are like a punch in your stomach; it was true. But it was different. Every phone call felt harder than the last until you decided to stop altogether and find your own path. You rest your hands in your lap, “I don’t want to do this.”

“This is the only problem between us. You keep running.” Jon’s eyes go from embers to fire as he leans forward, “I have never stopped wanting you, and  **you** told me to go. You said we could handle this.”

Shame and guilt wash over you; it should have been easier for him to forget you. Apparently, it wasn’t. You fight tears, confessing, “I thought we could. I was wrong.”

Jon reached across the table, curling his fingers around yours, “We could still make this work.”

God, you would love that. You would love to be free to be in love with him. But you know what’s going to happen. It will go well for a while, then you’ll be so hurt or worried that you stop talking to him again (like he said, you would run). This would not work.

Knowing all of this, you ignore stray tears and conclude the conversation, “I can’t.”


	4. Chapter 4

When he puts the car in park, you feel like the world is on the verge of collapse; your decision is one you are not positive you could live with, especially as his stone hands continue to grip the steering wheel to avoid touching you.

“Are we really doing this?”

His question cracks in the air, reminding you how much you would do to ease any pain he ever endured; you go against your better instinct and reach over to cover his hand with your own. You draw in a deep breath, forcing back tears, when his eyes shoot over to yours, “I think we both need to move on, don’t you?”

Though he says nothing, the sadness of his blue eyes tell you very clearly,  _No._

You can’t take it, leaning over to kiss his cheek; he squeezes your hand, a nonverbal cue that begs you to stay – to reconsider. With the last ounce of your strength, you whisper, “Goodbye, Jon.” You rush inside before he can change your mind, not bothering to wait for his response and needing to make the clean break.

Once in your apartment, your knees give out and you find yourself sliding down the wall. The sobs bubble out of you, and you can’t grasp what you’ve just done. You have driven away the only man that you have ever been in love with, the only man who has ever really seen the absolute best and worst in you. You choose to drive him away a second time? What the hell is wrong with you? This maturity thing was a bitch; however right it may have been, you regret this. He wanted that second chance, and the most stubborn part of yourself refused to be hurt ever again – refused to love him and lose.

You have no idea how long you sit there crying on the floor, but a soft knock on the door reminds you that you have to move. You swallow hard, wiping your tears, “Ive? Is that you?” Standing to your feet, you rush to open the door and find it’s not your bestie awaiting.

You can barely breathe at the sight of him, hands immediately at your stomach, “Jon—”

Whatever fight you had left within you completely dissolves as his lips smash yours; his strong hands cup your face as he moves inward and into your apartment. You try to avoid touching him, restraining yourself by locking your hands against your chest.

Jon breaks the kiss, staring down into your eyes as he slams the door shut; removing his jacket and tossing to the floor, he captures your face again and slips his tongue into your mouth. You sink a little, giving in despite every logical thought and remembering how he’s ruled you. Your body was his sport, and he was the only champion you had ever crowned. When his weight pins you to the wall, you can’t help yourself and grab handfuls of his shirt.

You know he catches the end of your resolve because you feel that smile, the one etched into your memory, prompt his lips to leave yours and trail to the side of your throat. You think about all the times you have convinced yourself he’s forgotten this – abandoned the chemistry you had. Jon makes it clear he’s forgotten nothing as his hands claw at the fabric at your hips, moving until he’s bunched the fabric there; your eyes snap shut as he begins to trail his kisses and hands downward. You could be gone with just his touch, a kiss, and he’s determined to make sure you have no reason to forget him again.

When his hands massage the muscles of your thighs, you have no choice but to give in, parting your legs just enough for his fingers to tug your panties to one side. He releases a hot breath against you, eliciting an involuntary moan from your lips; you happen to look down just as he smiles up at you.  _Shit._

His tongue darts within your folds; your head falls back against the wall; and you nearly fall over when his fingers join in the dance. You feel ashamed that you have driven him from the lowest of lows to this now. Are you misleading him? Give in and there’s no getting away. You’ll have to deal with the consequences. There’s a good chance he’ll let you down…he’ll fuck this up the same way you did when you stopped answering his call.

Your doubts and memory is erased when he drives you over the edge; his mouth takes in every buck of your hips as your whimper echoes through the apartment. When you look down at him again, you see he’s happily buried in between your thighs with your legs thrown over his shoulders. You gather enough of yourself, some feeling returning to your lower half, and you reach down to stroke his hair. The intimate touch rejuvenates him, his face leaving his treasure so that his hands can pull you down, and you do as his touch beckons, sliding down the wall once more. The moment the opportunity presents itself, he helps you into a laying position on the plush carpet. You watch as he pulls his shirt forward and overhead, giving you the perfect view of the frame you missed so much, the upkeep creating more definition in all its edges.

When his index finger signals you to come close by sitting up, you give and get the first taste of his skin as he pulls your zipper down. Sliding the material down your arms, you continue to kiss his chest until his low growl forces him forward so that you are flat on your back again. His mouth reminds you what your love tastes like, your arms wrap around his neck as he forcefully tugs the dress down and off your body completely, your panties disappearing somewhere in the past. Without his request, you remove your bra and prompt him to fumble with his belt.

Once freed, he reaches into his back pocket and makes sure he’s strapped in for the ride. You open and extend your arms to him, receiving a softened expression you didn’t expect. His body is against yours again, and you hold him for a tender kiss – assuring him that this may be the only time in his life that it was okay to completely ignore your words.

Before he’s joined the two of you together, Jon tunnels a hand into your hair and breathes heavily against your skin, “I love you, (Y/N).”

Tearful, you return his touch and caress his dirty blonde strands, “I love you, too.”

The last barrier tumbles down between you as he enters you, a strong thrust reawakening your desires and your hips roll to meet his every movement. Tomorrow, you would have to answer for the confusion you have caused and the rules you’ve broken; yet none of it matters as you realize that you belong to him, and he’s all yours tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

You have no idea how you made it to your bed last night, but your sore body indulges in its softness as you gain your senses the following morning. When you hear the loud pounding on your door, your eyes pop open and your late morning comes to an abrupt end.

“What the fuck?” Jon spits out and sinks further into bed, “You owe rent or something?”

You roll over to face him, smiling at the sight of him laid out on his stomach with his head nearly consumed by the pillow. God, he was beautiful, especially in the morning when he had no opportunity to hide his bed hair or sleepy pout. You swing your leg across his behind, your arm over his back, and kiss his bicep, “Ignore it.”

He lets out a low groan, appreciative of your touch and the excuse, “If it keeps up, I’m going to have to make myself tired again, and you’ll pay for it.”

That sounded like heaven until you hear, “Girl, open this door before I kick it open!”

“Shit!” You whisper in frustration and jump out of bed, running to your dresser.

Jon pops his head up, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Ivelisse!” You grab a random shirt out of your dresser, slipping it on in determination; you have to stop her, “Be quiet.”

“What? No breakfast in bed?”

Your glare tells him to ‘ _shut the fuck up_ ’ as you get out of your room. Trying in vain to straighten your hair, you lock the chain and open the door with a forced smile, “Wow, I don’t remember asking for a wakeup call.”

“I know. I’m just that kind of friend.” Ivelisse holds up a drink carrier and a brown bag, “I have sugary things for girl talk.”

You let out a sharp, nervous laugh and hope she doesn’t notice. You pull self-consciously at your shirt, wondering how many marks a sex starved man could leave on a willing opponent. Pulling your hair over your shoulders, covering your neck, you draw in a deep breath, “I’m not really up for a pep talk or anything.” Half true but you run with the idea, “I’d love to shower and call you later. Could we just do that?”

“Was it that bad?” Ivelisse catches your nervous stance, “Why aren’t you letting me in?” You shrink a little under her stare, and her shoulders fall, “You didn’t.”

You can’t lie to her, “…I did.”

“You had two things to do, just two!”

“I know!”

Her voice lowers to an equally frustrated whisper, “Wait, is he in there?”

You nod, shielding your face and wincing.

“The fuck, (Y/N)!”

“I know, all right!” You run your hands halfway through your hair and strangle the strands, “Can I just—call you?”

“Oh, yeah, and we gon’ talk this out.” Ivelisse shakes her head, removing a drink from the carrier and extending it to you; she then shoves the brown bag through the opening, “This is because I love your dumbass.”

You shut the door, leaning your head against the hard surface and cursing yourself for a multitude of poor decisions. You head into your kitchen, setting the items on the counter and wondering how you’ll explain things later. You broke the rules, you gave in, and you had no idea where things stood. How could you tell her anything?

“So you lied about breakfast, huh?” His voice causes your eyes to shoot to your bedroom, where he stands in the doorway completely nude and unashamed.

You try not to smile, sighing, “What if Ivelisse was here?”

“Then she would’ve got one hell of a show.” Jon makes his way to a space beside you, looking into the bag without your permission, “Muffins? Really?” Digging in and retrieving the chocolate chip one, he shrugs his shoulders, “It’ll do.”

You watch him for a second, laughing when you see his table manners haven’t much improved, “What the hell are we doing?”

“Right now? Eating.” Jon extends some of the muffin to you, disappointed you wave it off, “We’re going to figure it out, (Y/N). You just—have to have some faith in me.”

You note the change in his mood, and you hate being responsible for it. One minute he is funny, carefree, and the next you’ve drained him of energy, completely disappointed him. You reach over to stroke the ends of his hair, resting your body against him, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He sets the wrapper down, wiping his hands against each other, “Just stop running away from me.”

It was so matter of fact, despite his clear hurt. You swallow hard and mean your next word with all your heart, “Okay.”

“And, since your friend woke me up,” Jon turns, grabbing you abruptly by the hips and lifting you up so that your legs are around his waist, “You’re gonna have to get me back to sleep.”

“You hogged most of my bed last night! I’m tired!”

He ignores your protest, kicking your bedroom door shut behind him, “You have less than a minute before I take advantage of you, (Y/N).”

You chuckle at his threat, hugging him tight, “You don’t scare me, Jon.”

“All right, just remember I warned you.”

You erupt with laughter as he pins you to the mattress; as he looks down at you, you don’t care what lecture you’ll get later.

——————————————

“I have to go.” Jon struggles with this, clinging to you and kissing your lips once more, “I have a signing to be at in an hour.”

You moan, stretching your limbs with the awareness that the bed sheet would slip further down your body, “You’re gonna be late. Traffic out here is a bitch.”

He notices too, placing a few placid kisses on your breasts with a deep sigh, “I would stay if I could. Maybe vacation here and stay in bed.”

“If only…” You stroke his hair, taking a deep breath and vowing, “I’ll be here when you’re ready. I promise you I won’t leave again.”

You can see and sense his real fear of this, like if he blinks you’ll disappear. Your words seem to do little to ease his fears, but you roll over to place kisses in his favorite spots, “I love you, Jon. I won’t forget again. I won’t run if you promise to trust me. Don’t hold what I did against me.”

Jon shuts his eyes, trailing his hands into your hair, and gives you a kiss that says,  _I won’t give you a chance to forget me this time_.

“I’ve gotta shower.” Jon finally gets out of bed, still admiring your body, “I’ll be back tonight.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Your eyes follow him until he’s in your bathroom, the water blasting on. It prompts you to reach over for your cell phone. Immediately, you are confronted with the messages from Ivelisse that were sent throughout the night. She’s obviously been waiting for an update, but you have no idea how to explain what had happened. How were you supposed to tell her that you pushed him away only to have him give you mind blowing sex in return? How did you explain that you were pretty sure your single status had been revoked now, along with the bitterness of your goodbye?

This morning had answered none of her questions, finding you in the midst of afterglow, did nothing but make her sure you didn’t listen. You were to keep him out of your apartment, out of your pants, and you had given them up with little protest…so why didn’t you feel guilty about it?


	6. Chapter 6

You and Ivelisse agree to stick to tradition, indulging in a lazy Sunday of window shopping. Meeting her in your favorite corner of town, you continue to feel immense relief when you two naturally fall into a walk together. Though it is uncomfortably quiet at first, you appreciate her ability to support every decision you make – foolish or not.

The two of you pause, dig through dollar bins, and she finds a ridiculous pair of yellow sunglasses. Slipping them on, she waits for you to retrieve an equally awkward pair of green glasses and pose with her for a silly selfie. She laughs as she reviews the picture, “That’s a good one.” Putting the glasses away, you follow her onward so she feels the need to ask, “We lookin’ for anything specific today? A wedding dress perhaps?”

“Nah, but if we could find a huge box of condoms? That would be perfect.” Your attempt at making her laugh only elicits a smile from her; you can live with that, “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, Ive, so…”

“You know you two had sex.”

“Yes.”

“You used protection?”

“Yes.”

“It was good?”

You don’t even hesitate, stifling a moan, “Mm-hmm.”

“Damn, it’s like that, huh?” Ivelisse stops, impressed by your admittance and whatever your lover boy has done, “Well, at least he set you—straight – for a while?”

You laugh at her attempt to make light of the situation, thankful, “You could say that.”

“I knew you were in trouble when I saw the red. I’m telling you it never fails.”

You pull your hair back behind your shoulders, checking out a pair of beaded earrings, “Stop it with that, already?”

She shakes her head, clearly not a fan, “You were supposed to have dinner with him, settle a score, not offer yourself up as a dessert buffet.”

You try not blush as a pair of pretty boys pass you, overhearing Ivelisse’s bold statement. Putting the earrings down, you lead her away, “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then help me out. Because I am pretty fucking confused about the whole situation.” She messes with her phone again, notifications that people have already commented on your Instagram photos, “How did he find you anyway? He’s not watching us is he?”

“It was actually thought social media.” You gesture towards her phone, chuckling, “Not mine, but yours.”

“I am an awesome photographer.” You can tell she feels bad, especially as she adds, “The last I heard this guy abandoned you, and we hate that fucker.”

“You’ve only heard my side of the story—”

“The only one I care about.”

“Thank you.” You two continue to window shop as you try to find your words, “I am not the most—stable person. It’s probably why Jon and I got along so well.”

“But not enough for him to keep in touch, right?” Ivelisse stops you, trying to get you to focus, “You got left behind for a long time before Lucha came along. You needed him, and he was gone. Is that not true anymore?”

“I knew what the business was going to ask of him. I knew he was going to be gone more than home because it was  _our_  dream. When he got busy, the second he got red hot, I started to run wild with my ideas.” Your frustration grows as you admit your part, as you think about how you’ve pushed him away, “I have a habit of assuming the worst in people. And—I’ve done it to him before. I should’ve trusted that he was doing what he could. That he needed me to wait for him…and I didn’t. I abandoned him upon first chance and, of everyone, he never expected me to do that.”

Ivelisse sighs, reaching for your hand, “It sounds like you want to own the entire situation between the two of you. But your fear had to come from somewhere, and he always could’ve come for you sooner. You were home a long time before us, and I’ve been posting stuff since you got here. Where was he?”

She’s not going to let you do this to yourself; she’s your ride or die. She’s always going to take your side, no matter how wrong you are. You throw an arm around her shoulders, “Have I ever told you how much I love you? I’m just flawless in your eyes.”

Hugging your waist, she gives a firm nod, “We both are.”

—————————–

Johnny and Melina invited the two of you for dinner; so you and Ivelisse decide to watch bad reality television until it is time to head that way. You really didn’t want their uber healthy set up, but you and Ivelisse agree it was enough that you didn’t have to cook so you were going.

Critiquing the cat fights, the two of you are caught in mid-hysterical-laughter when your phone rings, “Hello?”

“Did you even check who was calling? I could’ve been a psycho asking about your favorite horror movie.”

You hop off the couch, heading into the kitchen and watching Ivelisse’s attention, “You are a psycho, Mox.”

“True, you checked your messages?”

You had. Multiple messages from him:  _thinking of you, keep my side of the bed warm, don’t dream without me_. They were incredibly sweet and unusually romantic for him; you loved it. You dig a hand into your back pocket, “I loved every single one.”

“No response?”

“Nope, figured I’d leave something to your imagination before I blew your mind later.”

He growls into the phone, and the vibration ripples downward from your ear, “Way to distract me from what I really need to ask you.”

“You need a raincheck, superstar?” Though you’d be disappointed, you were going to stretch your patience and understanding muscles – they were way out of practice.

“No, in fact, I want you at the show tonight.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes widen, your heart quickens, “Summerslam? You want me to go to Summerslam tonight?”

“Yes, the show I’m doing tonight would be Summerslam. I’m asking you to be there.”

“I—Jon, you know I work for Lucha. How’s it gonna look if I show up at one of WWE’s biggest events of the year? I don’t want anyone questioning me or, more importantly, my contract.”

“(Y/N), I need you to be here.” You can feel the disappointment in his voice, and it cuts you, “Please, I want to share this with you tonight. I’ll get you nosebleed seats if necessary! I just—I want you here.”

Why not capitalize on your bad decisions for him? Because there was no way this would go unnoticed tonight. You were walking into a fire pit of trouble; still, you tilt your head back and sigh, “What name should I use at will-call?”

You can see his smirk in your mind as his tone lightens, “Mrs. Mox.”


	7. Chapter 7

You had no clue how big the Staples Center was until you tried to find your seat; the ticket was in the nosebleed seats as he had promised. Wearing a baseball cap, a hoodie, and some baggy clothes, you hope that Ivelisse had helped disguise you enough so that no one caught you.

Sitting down, you take in the massive space and envy Jon. This is what he got to do since leaving you; this is the life he lived. Most importantly, it was the life he deserved.

The crowd was at a low buzz, many still filing in with their goodies from the vendors; you pull out your phone, bowing your head, and rarely lifting it up.

 _I’m seated. I don’t think anyone noticed._  You first text is to Ivelisse, then you smile while sending the second text,  _Mrs. Mox is seated as requested._

You receive an immediate response from both. You ignore Ivelisse’s winky emoji to open Jon’s message,  _then all is right with my world._

You tap your phone against your thigh, moving as fans file in around you and take a count of all the Dean Ambrose gear. He must have been freaking out with all the attention; it was all his. You tuck your fingers to your lips, trying to conceal your ridiculous grin, as the show began. The noise level increased to unbelievable octaves, and you couldn’t help but pray Lucha would reach this level one day – moving beyond a show and becoming a culture like this.

The whole spectacle is impressive, lighting and buy-in. However, your heart is rattled with excitement when his music hits and a woman near you screams out, “Dean!!!”

You pinch your lips together, standing up and watching him make his way confidently to the ring. To witness his movement, the interaction with the fans, you felt your love for him swell to new proportions. He was in this for all the right reasons, and these fans appreciated him for it.

————————————-

The last match is about to go on, and you try to text Jon.

_I’m going to step out now, try to beat crowd, meet me at the apartment._

You push send, heading down some stairs to reach the entryway; you are out as the promo hits for the match, leaving everyone glued to their seats. You are almost out the door, when someone with a walkie-talkie stops you, “Mrs. Mox?”

The severity of their tone throws you off, especially as you consider how ridiculous it sounds, “Yeah?”

“Would you come with me, please?” She doesn’t really wait for you to agree, beginning to walk rapidly in one direction.

You follow, stepping past a heavy wall of security, and aware of the threshold you have crossed. Again, if you’re caught, it’s your ass. However, your common sense leaves you completely when you see him walking towards you, sweaty and grinning. You rush past your guide and to him, throwing your arms around him, “I can’t believe what you just did. That was fucking amazing.”

He groaned slightly as you pull away, his lip a little swollen, “This is exactly why I wanted you here.” Jon nods towards the woman who escorted you, pulling you into a corner and away from prying eyes, “I wanted you to see what it was like.”

“It’s definitely bigger than Lucha. Crazy production.” You tuck your hair behind your ears and readjust your cap so that it is backwards, “Thank you, Mox. It was incredible.”

“Just a hint of things to come.” His comment causes you to frown with mild curiosity, “Later. Right now, I want to get you out of here.” Jon moves a little stiff, causing you to stop him.

“You did too much, didn’t you?” You groan at his reluctance to answer, “You’re resting tonight, Mox. No argument.”

“Oh, there’s gonna be argument.” His immediate disagreement is accompanied by his arm around you, “I’ve waited long enough. You can’t deny me anymore.”

————————————-

The ride to your place had only left his body worse off; no movement gave his body time to lock up. You get him up to your apartment, dropping his bag at your door, and getting him into your bedroom. Though his smile gives you the naughtiest thoughts, you hold your hands up in protest, “Mox, get comfortable, and I’ll be back.”

“All right.” His smug smile tells you that he’s going to fight you on the ‘taking easy’ orders.

You ignore that, getting into your kitchen and pouring some cool water. You find the Ibuprofen tucked under the kitchen counter and take a few into your palm. Shutting everything down, you head into your bedroom and find him comfortably nude on your bed. You shake your head, signaling for him to sit up, and hand over the items, “Take this.”

He does as told, putting the glass aside, and reaches out for you, “Come here.”

“No.” You step back, getting that your next move will take some coaxing; you strip down slowly, giving him the impression that he’s won and enjoy his hungry eyes as they stare you down. Once you’ve removed the last stitch of clothing, you signal him with your index finger to follow you – your show makes sure he’s a step behind you.

You test the water, making sure it’s on the verge of boiling before stepping in; the temperature is what you will need to help his aching muscles. You know this, and you are relieved when he doesn’t bitch, joining you and awaiting further instruction. Cushioning his bottom lip between yours, your hands reach under his arms and your fingers begin to massage the muscles of his back. You release his lip and kiss your way to his shoulder, grinning when he hangs his arms over your shoulders – it’s clear he’s starting to relax.

As you maneuver yourself in the space, using some scented soap to work out some of his tension; you leave his hair for last, gently turning him around and tugging his strands to get him to lean back. The water will soon go lukewarm, so you lather up his hair and rinse it out quicker than you had done the rest of your work. You love that he says nothing, responding to every nonverbal signal and allowing you to have your way. This is one of the few ways you two could always trust each other, no matter what. You finish just before the water starts to lose its magical powers, and you almost manage to make it out of the shower.

Jon prevents this, his mouth on yours and his body making sure yours is against the shower wall. Of course he wasn’t going to give up; he had warned you as much.

You press your hands into his shoulders, knowing his weakened state will all you more control, “I promise I’ll take care of you, Jon, but not here. Come on, let’s get into bedroom.”

“Don’t think I’m going to sleep without—”

“Message received,” You glance at his hard member between the two of you, “Loud and clear.”

He laughs, releasing you and giving you control once more. You wrap a big fluffy towel around yourself, using the other towel to dry him and using your lips randomly to provoke his deep breaths; you take a few minutes with his hair, smoothing your wild man’s strands.

Eventually, you get him into the bedroom and back to his laying position, flat on his back with a cocky grin. You wonder if you could get him to sleep with a little more special attention, but you know you’re as selfish as he is.

You’re just going to have to take advantage of him the way that you used to; so, you retrieve a condom, holding it between your teeth, and crawl on the bed, up his body. Ripping the foil, you wrap him and nearly succumb completely to your desires when he licks his lips, latching his hands onto your curves.

You crawl just a little further, lifting yourself off his thighs and onto his length; you moan loud, receiving an immediate buck of his hips, and pin him to the mattress by pressing down on his chest, “Just sit back, Jon, enjoy the ride.”


	8. Chapter 8

“There are my girls!” Dario’s happiness causes both you and Ivelisse to freeze in your steps, narrowing your eyes at him, “Don’t be so suspicious, ladies, I have a prime opportunity for you!  _Tonight_ , we offer an amazing ladder inter-gender match!”

“What?” The two of you ask the question in unison, but Ivelisse is the first to extend the question, “With who?”

“And why?” You were not afraid to go toe-to-toe with a man, but the match could prove to be very dangerous when everyone’s testosterone kicked in.

“Because Prince Puma was pretty embarrassed by your little ass kicking last week.” His eyes are on you as you swell with pride and shrug at your best friend; the two of you playing up the moment for the cameras you were now aware of, “And you know Angelico just can’t get enough of you.”  Ivelisse returns your smug response as Dario claps his hands together, “Muy bien! It’s done!” He begins to walk away as the camera comes to face you and Ivelisse head on, his voice echoing, “Give them a show!”

Once the camera has lowered, the director approving the shot, you and Ivelisse head to your locker room as the anxiety starts to set in. The idea was crazy! Yet you and Ivelisse felt that strong, feminine pride to prove you were so much better than the pretty boys who challenged you. Tonight, you could both be seriously hurt, and you were well aware of it. The only one who wasn’t aware of it was Jon, who was on the other side of the country.

The two of you were making it work, and the time you spent together did not go wasted. It was hard to believe that it had been nearly a month since he had re-entered your life and turned it right side up again. However, he would be in town for a visit in two days. Your match was in less than an hour. If you got seriously injured, an argument was inevitable. He was already giving you lip about this “inter-gender bullshit” like you didn’t get that he was being slightly overprotective and a wee bit sexist – like you couldn’t handle yourself against anyone.

Ivelisse sits down at the bench across from you, the two of you in an eerily quiet locker room, “You all right?”

“Me? Yeah! Totally ready for this.” You take your phone out of the bag beside you and tap it against your palm, “Just not so sure he will be.” 

“Jon?”

You nod.

“Come on, he knew what he was getting into here. He’s seen the show.”

“And he loves everything but this. The inter-gender matches piss him off.” You hang your head, sighing heavily, “He worries, Ive.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to and neither do you.” She wraps her hands around your biceps, squeezing them tight, “Because I’ve got your back.”

Soon, you were called to the ring. The crowd roared at the appearance of you and Ivelisse, filling you with unnecessary ego before you descended the stairs into the ring. You eyeball both opponents, bothered by their tiny smiles and wonder how seriously they take you. That is until you follow Ivelisse’s signal, and the two of you invited them off the ropes. When they do so, the two of you wearing deceptively sweet smiles, you bounce off the ropes and dive forward to take tackle them. The two of you bomb the men with your fists, hoping to get the match where it needs to be quickly as the audience eggs you on.

The match starts stiff; all four of you apprehensive about the incorporation of the ladders. The men flirt and tease you a little too much when they have the upper hand, provoking you and Ivelisse to land moves that stun them; then, you two drag a ladder into the ring. With a woman on either end, you slam the steel ladders down as many times as you possibly can onto them. The audience keeps count until both men have rolled to separate sides of the ring, leaving you and Ivelisse to grab a second ladder and set it up in the center of the ring. You and Ivelisse slap hands in celebration, the crowd screams for you to do it, so you both climb up until the bell has rung.

But that’s not the end, and you know it. Now, it’s time for the moment of truth. You look at Ivelisse, receive the signal, and you turn your backs to each other. With a deep breath, you stare down at Prince who looks at you through hooded eyes and gives his own signal. You blow out the same breath and dive off, hoping to land a frog splash that ends your feud with him.

————————————-

“Fuck!” You yell at yourself, looking at your reflection. Not only was your body pretty stiff after the match to end matches; but you had hit your mouth on a turnbuckle – somehow it didn’t kill the shot for Lucha nor snap your neck. Yet your bottom lip was split and swollen; add that to scattered bruises on your back and ribs? Your visit with Jon should be fantastic!

At least you had another day. Thank God! You, Ivelisse, and the boys had gone for celebratory drinks last night after medical examined everyone; it was nice to feel just somewhat numbed as you step into the shower. You stretch under the hot water, blowing out a breath as it ends some of the tension in your body, and wait for the water to go cold before stepping out. Dressing in panties, sweats, and a baggy t-shirt, you decided to let your upper body rest without a bra. If the fabric touches any of your marks, you may not be able to play your part tomorrow. No matter what, you were pretty sure Jon would make tomorrow night hell when he finally got to undressing you – because he would, you had no doubt.

You pick up your room a little before heading to the kitchen. Actions slow, patient, and mindful, you grab a couple ice packs. Then, you settle onto the couch - an ice pack at your side and the other at your lip – you grab the controller to flip through channels.  Not interested enough to invest energy into paying attention, you also know sudden movements are a terrible idea. You are going to try your luck; eventually, you turn on a reality competition and set the control on the floor. It takes very little for you to dose off. So, you don’t hear the phone ringing. You don’t feel the need to move, until there is a hard pounding on your door.

You snap out of your half-daze and try to gain your wits about you; especially as you sit up too quickly and the pain rips up your side. You bow your head, wincing with a low hiss, “Shit…”

“(Y/N), open the door! It’s Jon!”

You pop to your feet, losing your ice packs, and bite your tongue to keep from screaming. He cannot be here yet. He’ll be pissed when he sees; he’ll argue with you; you’ll want to punch him. There was no happy ending for this scenario.

You force yourself to calm down, calling out, “Mox, you weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow!”

“If you ever answered your phone, you’d know I caught an earlier flight.”

“I—I was in the shower!”

“For how long?”

Shit, how long had you slept? You bend down gingerly, grabbing the watery packs which used to be ice and toss them into the trash. You feel the wet spot on your side and wonder if you have time to change your shirt.

“Are you gonna leave me out here all day or what?” His tone is half-amused and half-pissed, not too outside of the norm.

“Yeah, I just need to get dressed real quick. Give me a few.”

 “It’s nothing I haven’t seen!”

“Well, my neighbors haven’t seen it!”

“(Y/N), what the hell is going on? Just open the door!”

You don’t have a choice. There can be no further delay. You hang you head and pull open the door, relieved your hair somewhat curtains your wound.

“Was that so hard?” Jon chuckles at your hiding, entering your apartment and dropping his bag, “What’s wrong?”

You close your door, mentally counting to three before facing him. His humor evaporates as he takes in the blemish on your lip, his hands immediately cupping your face. Blue eyes ablaze with concern, his voice is the husk of a whisper as he questions you, “How bad are you hurt?”

“Not that bad. No trips to the hospital or anything.” It’s not a joke, and you are not trying to treat it like one. You are simply terrified of his reaction, not wanting to be driven further apart, and try to relieve his stress, “I made a bad calculation. One.”

“And this is the result?”

Fuck. You gear up for the worst visit you’ve ever had with him.


	9. Chapter 9

“Don’t do that, please.” You groan, moving past him and returning to the couch; you fall into a seat on the couch, and you know he sees it, “It was a ladder match. Things look different up there.”

“Ladder match? With who!”

You figure that now is the time to get everything out in the open, “It was a tag team match.”

He sits next to you, yanking his cap off and tossing it to your side chair, “ _With_ **who**?”

“It was me and Ivelisse against Prince and Angelico.” You see his hands ball into fists, shaking your head, “We protected each other. The match was amazing. I—I messed up and hurt myself. My face hit the bottom turnbuckle, and my lip got the brunt of it.”

Jon says nothing, looking at you once more. He cannot help it, his thumb immediately making the softest contact with your wound.

A slight smile forms on your lips, your hand circling his wrist, “Jon, please, I’m fine.”

“You honestly gonna tell me that nothing else hurts from a ladder match?”

When you see his anger has somewhat subsided, you push yourself to put everything out there. Besides, he might get distracted when you lift your shirt anyway. Cautious, you lift your shirt just beneath your breasts and watch as he takes inventory.

The second he sees your bruises, he inhales a deep breath and releases it slow. His somewhat rough hand brushes over the marks with patience and love, as though he’s hoping they will all disappear under his touch.

You blink away tears, affected by his apprehension and in some pain, “Jon, I don’t wanna fight with you about this. The match meant everything to me. I’m proud of it, but I know how you feel about me being hurt. I know you’re feeling really protective right now. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to stop me. I wanted you to see the match and be happy for me…to understand that I had a  _moment_  just like you.”

“But you didn’t want me to be there or to even know about it.” Jon stands to his feet, pushes your coffee table forward, and takes his shirt off before kneeling in front of you, “Well, I have to do something to make myself feel useful.”

“So getting naked is your plan?” You somewhat laugh and immediately regret it; until his hands are on you, you run your fingers into his hair as he gets a closer look at your bruises, “Please tell me that you understand why I did what I did…Jon, I need you to understand.”

Jon starts to plant kisses on your marks; eventually, he sighs and rests his forehead against your flat stomach, “I get it…but I don’t like it.”

That’s okay! You love him for being honest, and you are grateful that he’s trying. You may actually care for him more because he’s trying so damn hard to be supportive.

“That I can live with.” You caress his hair as he rests there, “I love you.”

“Do you get that—” Lifting his head, he reveals his wounded gaze like a boy who’s lost his teddy bear, “I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing’s happened to me.”

“I just got you back, (Y/N).”

God, he knew exactly how to rip you apart. He wasn’t even trying, but he feels safe being vulnerable with you – that is enough to sometimes make you want to hold him without ever letting go. You take one of his hands, bringing his palm to your lips and kissing it; you then rest it against your cheek, “I don’t plan on going anywhere away from you  _ever_  again.”

You follow his direction from that moment on, allowing him any and every bit of access he wants; up to it or not, you know what he needs is the closet possible access to you.

————————————-

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” Actually, you feel more than okay. His patience and tenderness in your lovemaking had taken away the pain you were feeling, leaving you relaxed and serene. You tilt your head towards him, happy he holds you as delicately as he does. You fingertips run up and down his arm around you, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know yet.” Jon strokes your hair with his free hand, “There’s something I need to ask you, and I need you to hear me out before you lose it.”

That was not a good start for whatever it was; however, since he had listened to you, you owe him the same courtesy, “…I’ll try.”

“I want you to consider coming to the WWE.”

You immediately fill your lungs to capacity with air, trying to remain calm as you counter, “I love my job at Lucha Underground. Those people aren’t just co-workers, Mox. They’re my family.”

The second you switch your name address of him, he tries harder, “I’m sure they are. But you are my family.”

Your anger is hard to maintain at these words, “I can’t just leave. So, let’s stop this before—”

“You’re not even gonna think about it?” Jon ceases contact, sitting up, “(Y/N), this is what you used to want.”

“It was.  _Before_  Lucha.” You want to sit up, but you can’t, “They are my home.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, an angry laugh, “Am I ever going to be your home again?”

Fuck. More tiptoeing about your choices and your relationship status. When you force yourself to sit up, his arms are immediately around you to offer support. Your head falls to his shoulder, “You know what I mean. What I have with you I can’t even put into words.”

“(Y/N), this isn’t me just being protective. I dropped your name with a few important people, and they’ve seen your matches. Maybe this one, your big one, will get you a phone call. I just want to know you’ll take it…please.”

“Great, so my boyfriend gets me a contract? That just sounds wonderful. Never mind my talent or the fact that I’ve busted my ass for years.”

“That’s not what this means.”

“In a way it is. Can’t you see that?”

“All I see is that I love you, and I wanna be with you all the time. This way, we’d not only have that, but we’d both be living this crazy life. Together.”

In a way, it sounds like heaven. It sounds like the life you two had dreamed about as you huddled in your crappy apartment. You don’t retort, cuddling up to him, and bite your lip. He needed you to listen so you would, and you know he doesn’t need to hear about how you are just fine with your life now – that you weren’t ready for things to change.


	10. Chapter 10

_I love you. Stay away from ladders._

You roll your eyes at your last message from Jon, packing your bag and pulling it over your shoulder. Ivelisse had to stay for further creative input on the Angelico storyline. Too tired to wait, you head out to your car and stop a little short when you see a gentleman standing near your ride. The parking lot is still abuzz with security and people so you try to imagine who is possibly bold enough to confront you. Before you could signal security, the stranger approaches you with a smile and extended hand, “Mrs. (Y/L/N), it’s great to finally meet you.”

You narrow your eyes, stepping back with caution, “Yeah?”

“I apologize.” He holds his hands up in surrender, stopping in his place, “I’m Adam. I work as a producer for the WWE, help them to seek future talent. Your name was dropped into our laps and…”

As he rambles his introduction, so excited to sell you on the company, you feel your jaw tighten. This is Jon’s doing. That’s all you can think; you can’t even enjoy the approach, even as he stresses the ongoing benefits and asks you about your plans for the business. It feels wrong, unreal, because you know what this is…and you can’t believe any of it is because of you.

“We’d love to have a meeting with you at headquarters.” He hands you a business card, flashing a confident smile, “I think you’ll find we’re pretty competitive as it comes to contracts.”

You accept the card, smiling politely, “This is an amazing opportunity, but…I’m on contract here for another four months.”

“That’s okay. We’ll still be here.” He begins to back away, gesturing towards the card, “Give us a call when you’re ready.”

————————————-

You know you’re being unfair, and you can’t help it. The feeling of being ambushed, the loss of some independence, kills you. The card is constantly staring back at you, and you can’t find your focus. Before this, it felt like you could make everything work with Jon; now, it was beginning to feel impossible again.

You can’t be controlled. You can’t allow yourself to care more about him than you do about yourself. You have to maintain, no matter how much you love him. Sitting on your kitchen counter, you pour another shot of tequila and ignore your vibrating phone.

Some kind of conclusion had to come to you of its own accord; it had to be you alone making a decision about this. You know it’s him. You know he wants to know how you feel about all of this. You know he loves you. But can’t think straight when he’s around, when he’s in your orbit.

“You know this isn’t the way to deal with it, right?” Ivelisse reaches for the bottle and pours herself another shot, “He’s going to freak out and show up here.”

You nod, signaling for her to give you another, “Probably. I just—can’t give him an answer.”

“So you are considering it?” She watches your awkward stare away and pulls herself onto the counter beside you, “You’d be breaking a lot of hearts in Lucha.”

“I know. I know. You guys are my family…” You run your hands into your hair, gripping handfuls of your hair, “Tell me what to do here, Ive, because I’m struggling. If I let him go again, he’s not coming back, and—if I leave Lucha….I lose every damn thing I’ve built to start from scratch in a company that could easily crush my career in multiple ways.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, (Y/N). You gotta decide for yourself.” She takes a moment, gauging your confusion before wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “I got your back no matter what…but I will seriously miss you if you leave.”

“Thanks, no pressure there.” You laugh, glancing over to see another missed call from Jon.

————————————-

_I’ll be waiting._

You send the message, downing a glass of wine, and checking yourself in the mirror one last time. After making a decision about the WWE and Lucha, you knew this was how you had to approach Jon. He’d be pissed about your two day shut out of communication, but you were convinced that your apology would make up for it.

Jon knocked on the door once, signaling his irritation before he had even gotten into the apartment. You draw in a deep breath, messing with your curled hair, and tighten the black robe around you. When you open the door, he stomps past you. Okay, hurdle one, at least he comes into the apartment. You shut and lock the door before following him into the living room. 

Jon refuses to look at you, sitting on the couch, “You told me you weren’t going to do this again.”

“I didn’t disappear. I didn’t forget you. I just—had to think about what was happening.” You expect him to drop WWE deal details; instead, he glares at the floor, and you move towards him, already exhausted. Taking a careful seat on the coffee table, you face him and reach out to lift his chin. His blue eyes are dark with mixed emotions, and you know it. You slide your hands down his tense arms then curl your hands around his, “I wanted to make the decision on my own. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just—I had to be one hundred percent comfortable with whatever decision I made. It had to be about me and not how much I love you.”

Jon blinks, somewhat softened, “Love me?”

“Yes, Jon, that’s never going to change. I’ve been in love with you for how long now? It’s never going to stop, but I can’t forget myself in the process. I have to maintain me, and I have to make career decisions separate from us. We both do.”

He waits for you to grow quiet, his hands now around yours as his thumbs stroke your skin, “So, what did you decide?”

“…I’ve got a meeting at headquarters next week.” Your answer causes a grin to emerge on his lips, his cheeks pierced with the dimples you adore, “I can’t promise you that—I’ll sign. But I’m going to listen, and I’ll see what happens from there.”

His hands unlock from yours, framing your face, as he kisses you deeply.

The relief ripples through your veins as he does so. You wait for him to pull away, explaining, “This decision is going to change my life. I had to consider it without your influence…”

“You act like you do anything I say.”

“You act like you don’t know that you can make me do anything.” Standing to your feet, you gesture to your skimpy outfit, “Look at how far I’m willing to go here.”

Jon finally takes in your appearance, his hands immediately on your thighs and causing your blood to rush downward, “I’m looking, (Y/N).”

You untie your robe, slide the material to your sides to reveal the white gown with black lace detail, “I need you to know that I’ve only ever really loved you. No one else means this much to me. But you have to trust that this, my body and my heart, belong to only you. Stop doubting it. Stop thinking you have to make this deal happen to keep us together.”

His hands slide under the material, up to your hips, and his lips immediately twitch when he notes there’s nothing beneath the silky material, “So, you’re saying you’re mine?”

You straddling his lap when he tugs on your body, “You know I’m yours. I’ve been yours.”

His arms circle your waist, his face immediately at your throat and deeply inhaling the scent of your skin, “As long as we both know that, I’m going to be fine no matter what you do.”

“Good, now you gonna unwrap your present or am I being punished?”

Jon pulls back a little, his hands cupping your behind as he stands to his feet, and cradles you against him while moving towards your bedroom, “I like the sound of both actually.”

You start to nibble on his earlobe, your hands in his hair, until you hear his low grunt, signaling he won’t be able to control himself long, “You’re on, Mox.”


End file.
